Loyalties
by Bearit
Summary: Natia Brosca redefines loyalty through her relationships with Leske and Zevran. Written for LJ's 10iloveyou challenge.
1. Friends

Written for LJ's 10iloveyou challenge. Table: Opposites, Prompt: Friends.

---

He's flirting again, and she's not okay with it.

It's not hard to pretend she _is_ okay with it. Leske will suspect something's wrong if she does anything more than roll her eyes and make some snide comment about it. "She's _married_" or "Who would ever want to bed your sorry, ugly ass?" or even a "Do you really have to hit on everything that moves?" is enough to take away any suspicion he might have. Not that his thick skull will get it anyway. It comes naturally to her, a lot more naturally than anything else she could do, really. Being a jealous little bitch is something she has no idea how to do, even if it's something she is.

So she crosses her arms, and she sighs loudly. Beraht will have their hides if they take too much longer at this, and she says as much. The girl giving them the tip gives Leske a little smirk, a smirk Natia knows too well. She has tried this twice before, and twice before has Leske ignored her. He doesn't ignore this girl, and he matches the grin before sauntering off.

Natia wonders if ripping this girl's head off will be too obvious. This _is_ Dust Town; it's not like anyone will miss her. She thinks better of it, and follows Leske to track down their target.

She has to say something. Silence will means she's thinking, and Leske will pick up on that, especially since she's never been silent before. "You must be getting desperate," says Natia. "She looks like she dunked her face in the lava at least ten times."

Leske laughs. "You're exaggerating," he says. "It couldn't have been no more than twice. Besides, where she doesn't have it in the face--"

"--and the hair."

"--and the hair, she has it where it really counts." And he waves his hands in front of his chest with a sneer and lecherous chuckle.

Natia rolls her eyes. "I bet those don't look any better than her face. Worse, probably."

"With my luck, yeah, of course," says Leske, but he doesn't seem deterred. "Come on, let's get this smuggler before Beraht sends carta thugs after _us_. Don't want him thinking we're trying to pull one over him."

"Lead the way, friend," says Natia, and they make their way through Dust Town towards the mark the girl pointed them towards. She stares at him as they push through the brands who don't move for them, and she wonders if she should just tell him. She thinks about the consequences, and she reaches the same conclusion as always.

The risk is too great. She would rather die. Best friends forever, it is, then.

She affirms this knowing that this cycle will repeat itself, again and again, starting from her fantasies and daydreams as she lies awake in her bed tonight. It's been like this for too many months; it will be like this for too many more.


	2. Strangers

Written for LJ's 10iloveyou challenge. Table: Opposites, Prompt: Strangers.

---

"Leske! It's great to see you!"

It's funny how a few words tell an entire story, Leske thinks. She's changed, completely and utterly. So he calls her out on her fancy speech, but she only offers a shrug and a nervous smile, a smile that Leske is only able to recognize as such because he's seen it on Rica a million times before. Natia Brosca is never nervous, for any reason, not even when a drunken Everd revealed her true nature to the crowd that briefly adored her at the Proving a few months back. She had a fire in her eyes as she continued to defy everything the dwarven nobility finds sacred in the Proving with her declarations that a brand is worth more than they want.

That fire is lost now. It's been replaced with fancy new armor and fancy new daggers and a fancy new title. She's more than casteless, or a surface dwarf, or a condemned woman for desecrating the Proving Grounds. She's a Grey Warden, and he can tell.

She is not Natia Brosca, and every word she says pounds this into his chest harder and harder.

"Just hoping to catch up with you," she answers when he asks what she's doing back in Dust Town. No insults, no name-calling?

He shrugs it off, and he lies. No, he's not in the carta anymore, Jarvia wants both of them dead. He's been in hiding, because that's the best he can do. It's what the Grey Warden wants to hear, so she believes it.

Natia wouldn't believe it. She would see right through his lies, and he would tell her the truth. Maybe she would bring him with her to the surface, and he would be free of Jarvia forever. But he cannot bank on the Grey Warden letting him accompany her, even if to give him a chance to escape the clutches of the carta.

He is surprised when she tells him that she is looking for Jarvia. What, is she looking for her death sentence? He reconsiders sending her into the old Brosca home. Yes, Jarvia is ready to drive a dagger into his back if he fails this. She told him that she prefers something more straightforward than all this sneaking around, because Leske knows that she knows that this is a way out. He can still change his mind.

Leske considers changing his mind, until the Warden tells him that she is here under Prince Bhelen's request. Bhelen, who stole Rica away from Dust Town. Bhelen, who impregnated Rica with the Warden's nephew. Bhelen, who has given Rica a chance he could never hope to give the Brosca sisters.

He scowls and wonders aloud if the Warden is allowed to do that.

And then, briefly, Natia returns.

"If I get to kill Jarvia," she says, fire flashing in her eyes for the briefest of brief moments and a smirk tugging at her lips, "I don't care who asked it."

Leske is relieved that Natia is still hidden in there, somewhere, beneath the Warden armor. But it's too late. No matter how this ends, she is now Bhelen's man, just like Rica is now Bhelen's woman. And he still has to make sure Jarvia doesn't kill him in his sleep, one way or another, even if he makes himself far too vulnerable by sharing her bed.

He has no options. He has no choice.

And he hates that she does.

Leske hopes that someday Natia forgives him for this, before the Warden takes over forever.


	3. Not Enough

Written for LJ's 10iloveyou challenge. Table: Opposites, Prompt: Not Enough.

---

Bhelen tells Rica what he is having her sister--_their_ sister--do to secure his crown, and she is worried sick. The darkspawn litter the Deep Roads, and many who venture there never return. Bhelen, sweet as he is, gives her leave to talk with Natia. He begs her not to take too long, for Natia has a long day tomorrow in the Deep Roads and she will need her sleep. He has Rica promise to be back soon, and Rica makes her way to Natia's room.

Well, Trian's room, really, and Rica wonders if it will be little Endrin or Natia who will claim the fallen brother's room. She pushes aside these thoughts, for it makes her too giddy, and she knocks on the door. After a moment's pause, the door slowly creaks open, and Rica almost smiles as she recognizes the tired "go away" glower on Natia's face often shot at Rica back in Dust Town when she gently nudged Natia awake before lunch.

Natia, upon seeing Rica, relaxes, then opens the door wider and steps aside. Rica nods and enters, seeing armor and daggers and other vital equipment laid out on the floor. This reminds Rica of the task her little sister will be undergoing tomorrow, and she twists her hands together and bites her lip.

"Bhelen told me you're going into the Deep Roads to look for Branka," she says. Natia nods grimly. "Please be careful. I know you're a Warden now, but to me, you'll always be that little girl toddling around and pulling up on door handles."

Rica offers a weak smile, and Natia reciprocates. "I'll be careful," she promises.

She picks up a dagger and a polishing cloth and sits on a nearby chest. Rica knows this maneuver well; Natia does not want her to leave, and something is troubling her. She waits, because sometimes her company alone is enough to make Natia feel better, and sometimes Natia wants to talk. Usually, Rica is present only to keep Natia from doing something stupid, though Rica wonders if time on the surface has quelled those tendencies.

Even so, Natia doesn't seem angry, let along angry enough to do something impulsive. Perhaps she is worried about the Deep Roads? But that is not what is troubling Natia, Rica suspects, but she knows Natia well enough that she cannot pry lest Natia pulls away.

Natia holds the dagger in front of her, and she studies herself in the reflection of the blade. A strange look crosses her face, and she drops her head and lets the dagger fall to the ground.

"I... I had to kill Leske, Rica," she says quietly. "He... betrayed me to Jarvia."

Rica's heart sinks deep into her stomach. Oh. Oh, her poor little sister. She kneels down in front of Natia, pushing aside the fallen blade, and gently touches her cheek. Her skin is wet, and Natia refuses to look at her.

_Oh, Natia_, Rica thinks, _you should have seen this coming._ There is no loyalty among the carta thugs, only fear of their leaders. The thugs will do anything to stay in favor, and Leske was never an exception to the rule, especially once Natia left for the surface. Natia should have known this.

But this is not the time to say such things. Natia cared for Leske, of that she always fails at hiding, hard as she tries. Rica knows, but so did Beraht, when he lived, and she is not so naive to think that Jarvia was blind to it. Beraht exploited Natia's love, though not as often as he exploited her love for Rica; Jarvia did not have the luxury of Beraht's little whore, and so turned to the only other person Natia trusts.

"I... thought that might happen," says Rica gently. "I'm sorry."

Natia shakes her head and murmurs things Rica cannot pick up on. She thinks she hears 'should have' over and over again until she hears this from Natia: "I should have saved him."

Rica sighs, and she gently pulls Natia's face to meet her eyes. "Shh, no, little sister. Don't say things like that. I know you two had fun together, but Leske never had your strength. If Jarvia leaned on him, he would've bent to whatever she wanted. That's how he stayed in favor with Beraht."

Natia turns her swollen eyes away from Rica and says nothing for a moment. "I guess that settles it then. He never... I was never..." She closes her eyes. "By the ancestors, I'm so foolish. Of course he never--"

"Natia," says Rica firmly. "He never deserved you. And you always deserved so much better."

Natia gives her a strained smile. "That is not as comforting as you think it is."

"No, I suppose it isn't," says Rica, and she imagines herself in her sister's shoes, if Bhelen is the one to betray her to advance himself, using her love as a weapon, a tool. She then realizes that though Natia is crying, and Natia has not cried since their father left, Natia is a woman who has killed the man she loved.

Nothing Rica says will be enough. Disheartened that she cannot help her sister, she pleads, "Please don't dwell on this. One moment's distraction and the Deep Roads could kill you."

Natia shrugs and wipes her eyes, as though to say she'll be fine; Rica knows this as a lie. "Just take care of yourself and little Endrin."

"I will," says Rica, because she can do nothing else.


	4. Too Much

Natia never had cause for want of a bath. That was Rica's priority, both then and now. Oh, Natia occasionally found herself embedded in soapy brown and gray water, and this happened only after someone commented on her smell. She never admitted it to anyone; she could never live down the blow to her pride that she had a sense of vanity.

On the surface, she was hardly better. Morrigan's complaints were often directed at the trio of Natia, Alistair, and the mabari, and Natia always figured, eh, three to one. And then Leliana tagged along, and then Sten, and the odds were suddenly turned against her when it was time to get to Redcliffe and Natia found out that Alistair did do a fair job of keeping clean. Four to two, and she was to meet with a human noble, an _arl_, so she figured she might as well. The humans treated her better than the dwarves ever did; she could at least show some courtesy back.

However, she had left the mabari well alone. Someone had to keep up the stench.

Still, her baths were sporadic at best, and often only after Wynne handed her a bar of soap and pointed her towards the nearest body of water. But tonight, in the Frostback Mountains, Natia wandered towards the nearby pond on her own accord.

Nobody questioned it. They all stared, but no one stopped her, or challenged her, or mocked her. She just rummaged through Wynne's pack, found the soap, and left the camp behind her without a word or second glance.

Natia came upon the pond, the moon waving in the ripples. She tossed aside her daggers and pulled off her boots and dipped in a toe. She hissed and recoiled; now she was surprised that Wynne or Leliana or someone hadn't pointed out that the water here in the mountains would be freezing.

Maybe they assumed she just wanted to be alone and used a bath as an excuse. She'd show them. The Temple of Andraste had been colder. She was going to return to the camp, soon, and squeaky clean.

Why did she have to be alone, anyway? Natia finally paid her sister back for all her kindness. Rica was the new king's concubine, and her son would be the next king. Bhelen did not look upon Natia with any hint of contempt that the other nobles shot at her, and he seemed to truly care for Rica. Rica was _happy_, and not even Kalah could mess that up.

Natia scowled as she ripped off her gauntlets. This was cause to celebrate, and with family and friends, not mope about in solitude.

And yet, Natia realized, _she_ was not happy, not really, but she knew she was not the only one who was disturbed by what she learned in the Deep Roads. Hespith, the Broodmother, and Branka and Caridin, and the truth of the Anvil, all of this shook the group dearly. Considering Branka's fate, it should be Oghren everyone was concerned with, not Natia. He had begun drinking the moment he found Bodahn's stash and clumsily swiped the brandy from him, and while Bodahn protested no one else found reason to complain or stop him. In fact, Alistair grudgingly handed the merchant a few silvers to compensate. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this," he had murmured before helping Leliana put up a tent.

She pulled her armor over her head and her hands found the clasp of the amulet she had received in the Gauntlet. Natia froze. _Leske_. They thought she was still upset about _Leske_?! That had been over a week ago and more important things than just her... her... _feelings_ had preoccupied her mind. Did they really take her for a lovesick fool?

Natia moved her hands from the clasp to the amulet itself and tore it off. That sodding Gauntlet. First that Guardian attacked her for leaving her sister and friend behind, and then that illusion of Leske had been just real enough to catch her off guard, just real enough to send her flying back to Orzammar with barely a care about what happened to Arl Eamon, for fear of Leske's safety. But the Gauntlet had lied to her about his fate, had lied to her about his forgiveness, and she had not been prepared for Dust Town.

Her fingers trembled as she fondled the thin silver chain and caressed the warm etching on the front of the amulet. Natia knew what she would see when she flipped the amulet over, and she had little interest in seeing his bright-eyed and smiling face again. She did not want to remember his laughter, his playful nudges into her side, his firm hand on her shoulder, the way that his smirk always caused her to falter, just for the briefest of moments...

Natia squeezed her eyes shut and closed the amulet in a tight fist. No, _no_, she can't do this now. She did it once, in Rica's embrace, and that was enough. That should have been enough.

By the Stone, why was she thinking about this? She came here for a bath; she would not let the others be right.

Her hands refused to let go of the amulet, and she glared at her fist. This was no gift from Leske. This was a gift from who she wished Leske was, the one who would never crawl to Jarvia and bed her just to get back into favor, the one who would have warned her away from Dust Town, or at least offered to stay at her side as she took Jarvia's life. The one she would have brought with her to the surface with promises that the sky was nothing to fear, that nobody cares that he has no caste, that he could be a part of a quest more worthy than any task Beraht or Jarvia ever sent them to do.

This amulet was a gift from a Leske she wished existed. Natia only regretted she let her surface friends know anything about the duster. Now, they all pitied her, and she could not stand it.

Natia stepped back and brought her arm behind her, and she threw it forward, releasing the amulet from her grasp. She watched as it flew over the pond and arched down towards the center, making a satisfying _plop_ as it penetrated through the shimmering surface. Natia found herself heavily breathing and she collapsed to the ground.

"Take that, you sodding, nug-licking bastards," she whispered. She realized she was crying, now, and the only way she could possibly save face was if she just went into the water already, soaped up, and went straight to her tent and to sleep.

She climbed back to her feet, but before she could pull off her underclothes she heard the last voice she ever expected to hear behind her: "My, my, but I half-expected you to duck just your head in for appearances and throw your armor back on. All this undress... it is unlike you, my dwarven captor."

Natia pursed her lips. "Zevran," she stated. She thought Alistair would have been the one to follow her, for he had been the one to gently shake her out of her trance when she had stood over Leske's bloodied body. Or Leliana, who had experience a similar loss back in Orlais. Not the assassin she had spared, an elf who tried to kill her and she let live, when she could not give her best friend the same mercy.

She hated Zevran, then.

"Did you need something?" she asked curtly, not bothering to turn around to face him, nor making any movements to fix her state of dress.

The Antivan laughed. "Oh, no, I just thought that perhaps you might need some company."

"I don't need help to bathe myself."

"Oh? That is disappointing, though your history and the state of your hometown suggests otherwise. I was beginning to think that perhaps you were trying to repel me, but I have to warn you I have been with others and in places that would make you smell like a queen's perfume."

In spite of herself, Natia let out a snort. "A queen's perfume? How is that better?"

"Oh, it is potent, do not get me wrong," said Zevran, "but it is a much more pleasing scent than a barnyard in the heat of the sun and surrounded by livestock, I assure you."

"So I smell better than nug vomit on my worst days?" She considered this. "I'll take that."

He laughed again. "Let me rephrase that for you: you smell better than _Oghren_ on your worst days. But if you would rather continue with your bath, please, do not let me interrupt."

"And let me guess: you intend to watch?"

"Only if you do not object."

Natia said nothing for a long moment. She knew she was supposed to object with a witty one-liner, casual enough that Zevran would laugh it off, say, "As you wish," and walk away without further consequence. She knew that she was upset enough that she did not even need to be witty, that she could be as rude as she wanted, and not Zevran, not anybody, would be wounded by her words. But she did not want to object, and a realization sunk into her gut: she did not want him to leave. She did not want to be left alone, after all.

She hesitated too long, and Zevran spoke up with humor lacing his voice. "I take it your silence is an invitation to stay, no?"

Natia wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and turned to face the elf. She forced a smirk. "Only if you join me in my tent afterward."

Zevran's eyebrow shot up, and he matched her smile. "Oh? Is there something in your tent that needs assassinating? It is my specialty, or so I'm told."

"Not specialty enough to get two Grey Wardens killed," she said. "But I bet you're good at a lot of things."

At the very least, Natia thought, he might just be good enough to assassinate memories.


End file.
